


stay a while

by notjodieyet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Other, and for their birthday!, from Valc0's prompt generator on tumblr!, mentioned tenrose, set in s3, there could have been kissing but there's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet
Summary: the doctor runs into a too-familiar woman. delicate almost-kissing ensues.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Missy, The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	stay a while

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valc0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valc0/gifts).



It wasn’t that the Doctor couldn’t recognize the Master. In theory, he was very good at it. They had been married for an astoundingly long period of time, after all, and their respective telepathic circuits were hardwired to identify each other. Not to mention that the Master acted a very certain way, all the time, and the Doctor would be a fool not to realize it.

It was just…

Well. The truth of the matter was that the Doctor  _ couldn’t _ recognize him. He’d guessed that the Master had put up a sort of shield around himself so he wasn’t so easily spotted, although he could very well be waltzing about with an invisible, telepathic sign that said  _ HELLO, I’M THE MASTER, COME GET ME, _ and the Doctor thought he still wouldn’t notice.

And so the Doctor was not as certain as he should have been that the woman in front of him  _ wasn’t _ the Master. 

She cleared her throat, forcefully, and smiled at him with the sort of sickly sweet smile that only somebody who was up to no good could sport. “Mr. Smith, was it?”

“Erm. Yes.”

“Do come inside. It’s  _ very _ cold out there.” The woman flashed her blindingly white teeth again, in a sort of gesture that could have been another smile but probably was not, and looped her arm through the Doctor’s.

Martha was busy for the day. As long as this didn’t take too long, the Doctor could afford to be a little distracted.

The Doctor let the strange woman lead him inside, off the chilly London streets, and into her grandiose mansion.

The Doctor was sure it was impossible for a room to be  _ poised,  _ but the foyer of the woman’s house was precisely that. A painting of a dimly familiar man sat on the wall, labeled simply  _ Master of the house.  _ Countless pairs of petite heels sat on a shelf to his right. An unnecessary chandelier above shone an unfamiliar cold light on the pair. 

Before the Doctor could say anything, the woman had gestured to a previously-unnoticed girl dressed in black and white to snatch his coat off his very back. “I wouldn’t want you to not feel at home, dear,” purred the woman. “Tea?”

The Doctor felt like even though she was surely  _ not _ the Master, she  _ was _ somebody… intimate. He knew her; he was sure of it. “Yes, please,” he said, and she swept off. He felt suddenly, irreversibly alone. 

Her absence, at the very least, gave him the opportunity to take his jacket off the coat hanger and snatch the sonic from the pocket. The Doctor felt instantly safer with the weight of it in his palm.

The coathanger was, unless the Doctor was very much mistaken, modeled into the shape of an intricate dagger. He shivered. Perhaps he’d been better wandering the streets by himself, in the end. 

The woman came back soon enough, holding two matching cheerfully yellow mugs. “You poor little thing,” she said, frowning her bright red lips. “What does a boy like you have any business doing wandering around in a rainstorm?”

The Doctor was about to say that it  _ wasn’t _ raining, he was significantly older than her, and he really should be going now anyway, when the unmistakable sound of raindrops began pelting the door behind him. He was rather too gobsmacked, for lack of a better and less fantastical word, to think anything other than  _ Well I’ll be _ .

The woman winked and the Doctor had the chilling feeling she’d heard his very thoughts. “You can call me Missy, darling. And don’t bother telling me your name, again — there’s no use for falsehoods between the two of us.  _ Doctor _ .”

The Doctor sputtered, and took a sip of tea to prevent himself from talking. It burned the roof of his mouth. 

“The sitting room is just through here,” Missy said, with a predatory smirk. “My dear. I think we’re going to have a very good time.”

* * *

Missy’s sitting room was as elaborate and gaudy as her foyer. There were three purple plush couches which the Doctor sank at least a foot into, and more weirdly familiar portraits, these untitled. A charcoal drawing sat on the coffee table, of a boy with almost fae-like features. “We’ve met before, Doctor,” Missy said casually, removing a makeup mirror from her pocket and admiring herself in it. “If you remember.” The words were almost a challenge.

“I…” The Doctor snuggled further into his chair. It was so unbearably soft. “I can’t say I do,” he admitted. 

“Ah, you’d had a few drinks by then. You and that pretty little blonde girl. Wherever  _ is _ she?” Missy’s lips curved up yet again, seeing the Doctor wince, as if she took great pleasure in his discomfort. “I’m sure you have a new human friend by now. You seem to pick them up so easily.”

The Doctor tried to cut in, to change the subject, but Missy was an unstoppable force. 

“Not that I don’t understand, of course. You _ are _ the prettiest, itty-bitty thing, now. There’s not any room for old me, now, is there?” She rattled on before he had a chance to reply. “No, no, it’s all right. I’m getting too old for that sort of thing. You’re just gorgeous like this, you know? Has anybody told you? That blonde, I’m sure. She’s a nice kisser. Although I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

The Doctor blinked. He wasn’t sure if he should blush or interrupt or wonder when the fuck Rose had kissed this woman. He did all three. “I…” he said again, helplessly.

“Skinny as a stick. But tall, at least. I’ve always liked you tall, dear.”

“I should be going,” the Doctor blurted.

“It’s pouring, dear, don’t worry about it. Those stripes look good on you, too. I envy that girl, sometimes.  _ All _ your precious little humans. And their short lives… so easy to just! Snap! Out!” Missy burst into gleeful giggles at that, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m so glad my favorites are all gone. I could never bear to do anything to…”

“Master,” gasped the Doctor, struggling to spring up from the dangerously comfortable seat. “It is you.”

Missy snapped, sharpy, and said, “Maaaary. Mia. Mateo. The one that starts with M. Lock the doors, will you?” Her electric blue eyes locked with the Doctor’s. “We do have a  _ lot _ to discuss.”

“I have to go,” said the Doctor again, thanking his past self for taking the time to grab his sonic screwdriver. “You’re —”

“Stay a while!” said Missy, unbridled elation still lacing her voice like poison. “I have a two-hundred-year-old red in the back. We’ll have a drink, chat a bit… and you will adore what I’ve done to my  _ bedroom _ .”

“No,” said the Doctor, as blandly as he could.

Missy drooped a bit. “Well. We could put on a film.”

“No.”

She pouted. “Come here and give your darling Master a kiss, won’t you?” 

The Doctor didn’t appreciate how much the idea appealed to him. He could be soft, pliable, for her; tell Martha he had a fine day, thank you very much. He could let her squish his carefully gelled hair and tell him how deliciously beautiful he was. He wanted to.  _ Oh, _ the Doctor wanted to. 

“No,” he said again, after a long, enticing pause. “Let me leave, Master.”

“Missy.”

“Missy,” he said. “Please.”

Her bloodred lips curled themselves into a surprisingly soft frown. “I’d think you missed me more than that,” she said, ever so softly, her voice trembling. “I missed you more than that, Doctor. I missed when this  _ you _ was mine.”

The Doctor leaned forward without realizing what he was doing, slipping off the couch and shuffling towards her on his knees. “I missed you,” he said. “I did.”

She placed a delicate hand on the side of his face and blinked, rapidly. If the Doctor didn’t know better, he might think she was staving off tears. As it was, her eyes looked suspiciously wet and wobbly. “My Doctor,” she said.

“Missy…”

“Kiss me,” she said. She was so astoundingly beautiful that the Doctor could hardly help himself, with her brown-caramel hair pinned up, her collar buttoned all the way to her neck. He leaned in, shrinking the space between them until the only thing holding them apart were bare molecules of air. 

“I can’t,” the Doctor murmured, his mouth infinitesimally,  _ painfully _ close to Missy’s. “I can’t do this again, Missy, I can’t kiss you and pretend everything’s okay. Not… anymore.”

“What do you want,” said Missy, her voice run suspiciously ragged. She was desperate, he realized, and he decided to set aside the suitcase of feelings he had around that. “What do you _ want. _ ”

“Nothing,” said the Doctor. He reached his hand up to where Missy’s fingers still rested, on his cheekbone. “There is no force in the universe that will ever get me to kiss you again.”

Missy ran her tongue over her lips. She sniffled a bit. “You’re very dramatic, you know.”

“I know.” Rose had said the same thing:  _ “You’re  _ so _ dramatic, Doctor,” _ she’d giggled, time and time again. He ached with the missing of her.  _ “You’re sooooo dramatic.” _

“You should really be going,” laughed Missy, softly. “I know you’ve got your sonic.”

“You’re just going to let me walk out of here, then,” said the Doctor, knowing he was tempting her to do something atrocious to him. He almost wanted her to. Almost.

“No,” said Missy, her eyes sad. She swatted his hand away, brought her other hand towards his head, rested her fingertips on his forehead. “I can’t have you knowing where I live, now, can I.”

“Missy,  _ no _ .”

“Goodbye, Doctor. I’ll see you soon.”

“ _ Missy. _ ”

The last thing he saw was Missy whispering to him, the words too soft for him to make out, before his vision clouded over and he couldn’t remember anything any more.

* * *

It wasn’t that the Doctor couldn’t recognize the Master. In theory, he was very good at it. They had been married for an astoundingly long period of time, after all, and their respective telepathic circuits were hardwired to identify each other. Not to mention that the Master acted a very certain way, all the time, and the Doctor would be a fool not to realize it.

He stood in front of a very large house in the rain and blinked. Where had  _ that _ train of thought come from, he wondered, pulling his coat tighter around him. Martha was busy for the day. He had to go pick her up.

The Doctor let his gaze linger on the house’s glorious windows a moment longer before turning to go. A woman stood in the window, a blur of purple, and then she was gone.

He must have imagined it. He felt… tired. Dizzy.

“Hm,” he said to himself. “Hm.”

The Doctor left the house behind. He really was tired. Maybe he needed a nap.


End file.
